I guess that I should start at the beginning, about six years ago, when I had no idea how valued my life could ever be to anyone at all. It’s a part of my life that I will never be able to forget. Even now, as I close my eyes and inhale the deep scent of chocolate orange cocoa, the snowflakes compressing on the window ledge, a thick woolly blanket wrapped around my shoulders and the radiator reflecting the heat of my heart, even the vestige of a kiss on my lips. I smile at my ignorance, the pain of all that I felt comes back to me and I cannot help but rethink the years that had passed... – Marie xxxx
This is all that you could ever want. Well, it will be all you could want. This is the only reason that you don’t give up; it’s all that you can do to really live.
Contemplating the thoughts in my mind, I brand them into my soul. It’s all that I can do to keep myself running. I go over the inspiration in my heart until I blot out all cravings to slow down, to stop, to let them win. It’s been 20 minutes. 25. It’ll soon be half an hour. I know that I can’t run forever, but that doesn’t stop me from pushing on - from trying. Small droplets of cool liquid form on my forehead, trembling fearfully at the fierce spring of my feet as I increase the speed on the machine that, for a few weeks, has been my life support.
Support, the word itself screams weakness. I roll my eyes at the idea and push it far out of reach, focusing on the life ahead of me. A life that promises happiness, a life that offers love. 30 minutes. Can I keep going? My body aches; I’ve been so consumed in my effort to keep going that I have paid no attention to the throbbing pain in my side. But I feel determined to keep going. If I reached 45 minutes then I would think about stopping. I winced at the idea. Running took my mind off of what I needed to escape.
“Marie?” I growled and sighed deeply as my mother’s voice penetrated the floorboards. “Yes Ma?” I shouted back. Although my body felt weak, my voice came out strong and even gave the hint that I didn’t want to be disturbed, without seeming annoyed or showing disrespect. “Its dinner time, honey” her voice softened as she spoke, but even then, I knew that there was no denying that she would be angry if I didn’t come straight away; if I refused to eat. It had only been six hours since my last meal and I wasn’t prepared to anything else until tomorrow, at least.
Turning off the treadmill, I ran up to my room, passing the kitchen where my family was starting to pile into their seats. Plucking hard at the elastic band tightly wound around my wrist, I knew in my heart that they really wouldn’t care less, more for them. Trying to kill what was going to be left of my evening, I grabbed a book from my book shelf and set it on my baby pink patterned bed sheets to read after a quick, cold shower. It was going to be hard to maintain my eating disorder in this house. But it wouldn’t be long, less than a few hours until I would leave. The thought made me feel guilty that I hadn’t spent my last meal at the table. I knew it would be worth it all though.